


Nobody Does It Better (We've Got All the Time in the World)

by irridescentsong



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Bondage, M/M, Whipping, dub-con
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-01-24
Updated: 2012-01-24
Packaged: 2017-10-30 01:50:18
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,447
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/326433
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/irridescentsong/pseuds/irridescentsong
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He'd never done it before, John knew his thoughts that it couldn’t be done, he always needed some stimulation there.</p>
<p>If John said he would, then he would. John was a BAMF that way, and he knew John knew it.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Nobody Does It Better (We've Got All the Time in the World)

**Author's Note:**

  * For [galleonwillow](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=galleonwillow), [umbrelladdict](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=umbrelladdict).



> This contains **dub-con, bondage, and whipping**. If you aren't okay with that, please don't read it.

He was lying on his back in the middle of the bed – blindfolded, plugged ears, gag in his mouth, and his hands tied neatly behind his back. Every rush of the air above him made his body hyper-sensitive, and damn it, John was taking his sweet time. He started to roll his head from side to side, anticipatory, and just waiting for something. Anything. And then something soft brushed ever so gently against his stomach - a fingertip (left hand most likely his second finger) ran one line across his stomach briefly, no longer than half a second, before it vanished again.

 

He made a groaning noise against the gag, willing himself to be heard, to get coherent words to make John understand that the playing was enough and he should just very well get on with fucking him thank you very much. The finger returned, sweeping up from his navel to sternum and out to run across one nipple, the softest brush against it, sending his body into hyperawareness. The next touch was near his right ankle, circling, rubbing slowly

(who knew an ankle could be so erogenous?) but then the finger disappeared, and a wet tongue took its place immediately, all though disappeared from his brain, and decided to zone in on the bumpiness of John's tongue against his skinny ankle. The skin was sensitive, and it prickled gooseflesh against his body, but as quickly as the tongue had come, it disappeared. He grunted again against the gag, coherent thought returning. He might never get to-oh god there was that tongue again, on the inside of his thigh. Oh god, it was so soft, and left wetness behind it, and oh, that wasn't fair, no, he was blowing on it. John was now officially teasing him.

 

This time, the whole hand made an appearance, splayed itself against his ribs, and he drug short nails against them, each ridge of a rib making his fingers scatter, and his nerve centers went into overload. His nervous system was not very happy with John's attentions. It wanted him to quit teasing and just suck him or fuck him or something!

 

But no, the hand trailed backwards up his chest, scratching nails against one nipple, up the side of his face and into his hair. John yanked hard on one curl of his hair and then it was gone. The next touch took him by surprise as he felt a finger pressed against his cleft. It started circling the skin there, a nail catching the tender flesh every once in a while, and a warm wetness engulfed his nipple, as John sucked it and teased it with his tongue into standing erect.

 

Speaking of erect, his cock was so hard, and just begging for Sherlock to somehow find a way to make John pay attention to it. John hadn't touched it once, and it was starting to drive him mad

 

John lowered his mouth to his skin, and he could feel his tongue writing letters.

 

‘I’m going to make you come without touching you.’

 

He moaned loudly, just the thought of it making him harder. He'd never done it before, John knew his thoughts that it couldn’t be done, he always needed some stimulation there.

 

If John said he would, then he would. John was a BAMF that way, and he knew John knew it.

 

So, when the bed dipped, and John spread his legs wider, his brain went into overdrive, which, apparently, was the wrong thing to happen, as John promptly bit him on the calf.

 

'Stop thinking' his finger traced on his thigh. 'Let go' it said.

 

Easier said than do--oh shit, there was that finger again - rubbing, teasing, circling - as if it was going to eat him whole. _Oh, don't be pedantic_ , he told himself, _it's a finger, it won't eat you_ , but John and his wonderfully blunt finger decided otherwise. It circled twice more, then flashed against his opening before returning to circling. Circling again, this time instead of running it over his hole, he slipped it in, and Sherlock moaned, loudly. He could feel John sigh against him, legs wrapped now around John's hips, just waiting. He knew John liked him vocal, but the gag prevented it, so, he made soft whimpery noises against it, as John slowly finger-fucked him. He felt the odd shift as the finger slipped back out and a second one was added, and then - god- John rotated those lovely fingers 140 degrees and back.

 

Godgodgod, he just wanted to be filled already, a great hardness pressing against him. He bucked his hips in John's direction, careful not to lose those amazing fingers. John's other hand pushed firmly on his hip, pushing him back down against the bed.

 

It wrote 'Don't make me get the crop.'

 

'I will punish you if you don't stop.'

 

He stilled himself, thought about whether he wanted the crop or not. Chances were, if John got the riding crop, he wouldn't get to come any time soon, but as things were going right now, he didn't feel like he was going to be allowed to come soon anyways. So, he pressed his advantage, swinging his hips upwards again, humping the air, body begging for release. The fingers left him abruptly, and the bed shifted, John's absence turning his need into torture. Immediately, he regretted his decision (stupidstupid now’s he gone).

 

He was roughly shoved over, arse up in the air, his arousal digging into the bed below him. So, he took the option in front of him - to hump the bed instead, its cotton-y cover delightful friction against his aching cock. Promptly, he was hauled up onto his knees, vaguely disorientated, almost lost his balance, quickly regained it, and felt a loop being passed between his restraints, tying him up in that position. He whined against the gag, mostly because he was upset the friction was gone but the sting of the crop broke his mind off that train of thought. John swung it back again, and it came whistling through the air, to lay a stripe of angry red against one pale cheek. Once more for repetition, then the bed shifted again, and he felt a tongue against the stinging flesh, soothing it.

 

The loop holding him backwards was loosened, and before he could fall forward to hump the bed again, John had his restraints in one hand, keeping him upright, sliding behind him, all warm skin and hard arousal. The leather loop at the top of the crop was drug slowly down his ribs, and John started to line himself up into position, to finally finallyfinallyfinally fuck him.

 

He pushed back, lowering himself down just a bit for John to slip inside him, John’s hand leaving his restraints, and was surprised when he felt the crop come against his throat, pulling back so slightly, barely affecting his ability to breathe, but definitely noticeable there. He felt John's hips rock up into him and the grip on his throat from the crop became marginally tighter.

 

And it went on, slowly, John would rock up into him, and the riding crop, that glorious riding crop would push firmer and firmer onto his esophagus, until finally, it was seriously hampering his ability to breathe properly, and John started to push into him harder, faster, with a sense of urgency. His head flew from side to side against the crop's constant pressure, dragging air through his nose, not ever able to get enough in and then John pushed him forward onto his knees with a hip, side of his face landing against the bed. John hadn't lost his grip of the crop or his cock's wonderful position in his arse, just followed him down, catching himself quickly. He returned to his previous motions, hips seeking, drawing around in a circle, until he touched against that spot, the one that made him see stars, and suddenly, without warning, he was humping the air, come spurting out and falling to the bed below. He couldn't breathe-it was too much all at once, John's cock driving into him, the crop still pushed against his throat, restricting his breathing, and god, John was just driving into him over and over before he finally shuddered and stilled against him.

 

The pressure released against his throat, and all at once he was alone again, no stimuli.

 

He felt hands deftly untying his bonds, removing the earplugs, untying his blindfold, undoing the gag, and he rolled over onto his back, looking up into John's face.

 

John looked at him expectantly. He had no words to say at the moment

 

Other than "You were right."


End file.
